


Having Your Cake

by TawnyOwl95



Series: Eden Falls Farm Fics [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Baking, F/F, Ineffable Wives (Good Omens), Plot What Plot, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), That's actually an existing tag!, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Whipped Cream, complete self-indulgence, so soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:40:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23629390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TawnyOwl95/pseuds/TawnyOwl95
Summary: Crowley’s never baked a cake. That's about to change.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Eden Falls Farm Fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1700944
Comments: 12
Kudos: 101





	Having Your Cake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LePetitChou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LePetitChou/gifts).



> I know nothing about baking. I stole a great deal from  
> [here](https://www.theguardian.com/science/blog/2010/jun/09/science-cake-baking-andy-connelly)

Crowley had no real idea what prompted her to say it. She felt too safe, that was the thing. Warmed by firelight and Aziraphale’s flannel pyjama shirt. Comforted by whiskey and Aziraphale rubbing an idle thumb over Crowley’s instep while _Bake Off_ hummed away in the background.

“I’ve never baked a cake.”

Aziraphale’s thumb paused before continuing its casual circling. “What? Never?”

Crowley lifted her head of the sofa arm and shook it. “Never.”

“What about in Home Ec.?”

“I skived off. Thought it was a waste of time.”

A frown puckered Aziraphale’s forehead. “What about for the school fundraisers?”

Crowley wished she had her glasses on. She would have peered at Aziraphale over the top of them with an appropriate level of derision. Her look was still enough to make Aziraphale say, “Point taken.” Then, “Gosh. You think you know a person.”

“Is that it then?” Crowley stretched. “Well, we had a good run, angel.” And really, the fact that she could joke about them splitting up over cake was a miracle all by itself. It was nice, this feeling of security.

“So dramatic.” Aziraphale smiled. “I wouldn’t leave you over something so frivolous.”

“Good to know.”

“Not when it could be so easily remedied.” Aziraphale tapped Crowley’s toes while very much wearing her school mistress face. “Up, slattern.”

“Oh no! No!” Crowley curled into the sofa. “C’mon. I’ll mess it up.”

Aziraphale was on her feet. “Of course you won’t.”

“I’ve _eaten_ cake. Lots of cake. That’s got to count for something?”

“And this one will taste so much better because you’ve made it yourself.” Aziraphale smiled again. It was _that_ smile. Straight teeth and big eyes, and so much imploring love.

“Fine!” Crowley peeled herself off the sofa and, with some trepidation, followed Aziraphale to the kitchen. 

Aziraphale putterrd around in the cupboards presumably looking for the right type of flour. There were now seven types of flour in Crowley’s (no, their, and wasn’t that delicious?) cupboards. Until two months ago Crowley hadn’t realised seven types of flour existed.

She leaned moodily against the kitchen table while Aziraphale approached her with a grin and an apron. “You’re not making a mess of my pyjama top.”

“Could just take it off.” Crowley got her arms round Aziraphale’s waist as the apron went over her head.

Aziraphale allowed herself to be distracted with kissing and caressing for a moment, but then her hands slid round Crowley’s waist with the sole purpose of doing up the apron strings at the base of her spine. 

“Leave it on,” Aziraphale whispered. “I like you in it.” She stepped back. “Maybe roll up the sleeves though. Don’t want cuffs in the batter.”

Aziraphale went back to setting things out on the counter. “It’s really just science. You like science.”

“I like astronomy. And biology. Big biology fan, me.”

Aziraphale bit her lip. She failed to hide her grin. “Stop trying to distract me. There’s only four ingredients. Look.”

Crowley looked. “Five ingredients. Off to a great start aren’t we?”

“The salt is an extra.” Aziraphale was not cowed. “Cuffs up please, now.”

Crowley could never resist that tone of voice. It made her stomach jump with anticipation. She rolled up her cuffs.

**_Recipe_ **

**_250 g (10oz) of self raising flour_ **

**_250g (10oz) of caster sugar_ **

**_250g (10oz) of butter (at a cool room temperature) or margarine_ **

**_Five lightly beaten eggs (assuming each egg weighs about 50g_ **

**_(2oz)Pinch of salt_ **

“We need equal weights of the four major ingredients: structure-building flour and eggs; and structure-weakening fat and sugar.” Aziraphale selected a ceramic mixing bowl.

“Why are we building structure just to weaken it again?”

“I’ll explain as we go. 250g of caster sugar in the scales please, dear.”

**_Take the sugar and fat and beat together until the mixture reaches a fluffy consistency. This can be done either by hand if you are feeling strong, otherwise use an electric whisk._ **

Crowley’s shoulder ached. So did her forearm. The butter was resisting any effort to make it combine with the sugar. “Don’t we have an electric whisk?”

She was sure they did. Lots of baking gadgets hiding in the shady corners of her once pristine kitchen since Aziraphale moved in with all her cosy chaos. 

“Someone keeps tidying it up,” Aziraphale said. “Apparently it cluttered up the counter tops. I have no idea where it is and you’ve no one but yourself to blame.”

Crowley groaned. She put the whisk in a different hand which made holding the bowl awkward.

Aziraphale took pity on her. “Alright, pass it here.”

Aziraphale wore the pyjama trousers that went with the shirt Crowley had pilfered earlier that evening. That meant her top half was covered by a very flirty camisole that left Crowley constantly wanting to undo bits of ribbon, but also meant she had a very good view of Aziraphale's arm as she worked the fat and sugar together.

“We need to get it to the consistency of whipped cream,” Aziraphale said. Then started to explain about air bubbles and the impact of sugar on flour proteins. Crowley sipped her whiskey and tried not to take the bowl away so she could ravish Aziraphale on the kitchen table. The vigorous beating was distracting. It caused interesting flexes and tremors across Aziraphale’s torso. Listening to her speak about something she loved with so much confidence didn't help either. 

“There.” Aziraphale lifted the whisk and inspected the result. “Perfect.”

“Hmm?”

“Crowley, have you been listening?”

“Sure, yeah. Sugar softens flour proteins, right?”

Aziraphale narrowed her eyes. She dipped two fingers in the mixture and held them out. “Come here.”

Crowley didn’t need to be told twice, although she took her time over it. Not fair if she was the only one feeling hot and bothered. Although after all the whisking, Aziraphale did have a pink tinge to her cheeks. It darkened when Crowley gently took Aziraphale's wrist and sucked her fingers into her mouth.

“Notice how the smooth buttery flavour hits you first, and then the sweetness as the gritty sugar dissolves.” Aziraphale’s voice broke as Crowley used her tongue more than strictly necessary. She rallied herself admirably. “The mixture is lighter and softer than butter on its own: this is all the air we’ve beaten in to it.”

“Very light.” Crowley licked her lips. “Do you need to taste too?”

“I think…”

Crowley leaned over the bowl and slid her mouth against Aziraphale’s. She was rewarded with a soft moan, and then Aziraphale dropping the whisk so she could get her hand into Crowley’s hair. The edge of the bowl pressed into Crowley’s ribs as she tried to shift closer.

“Mmph, careful” Aziraphale pushed her gently away.

**_Beat the eggs into the mixture and then gently fold in the flour, preferably with a metal spoon._ **

“More beating!” Crowley moaned.

“But much easier. Here, I’ll do it. You weigh the flour.”

Aziraphale planted a kiss on the corner of Crowley’s mouth and edged her out of the way with the bowl. 

Crowley didn’t mind so much when she found herself stood next to Aziraphale at the kitchen counter, hips and elbows bumping as they worked together. They often cooked dinner like this, bickering over seasoning and oven temperatures. Domestic, that was what it was. Crowley had never thought of herself as being domestic, but then she’d never thought that another person could fit so neatly inside her personal space before either.

“The egg will stop the fat-coated air bubbles we’ve just created from collapsing when heated. The flour will give the cake structure. Pour in the flour just a bit at a time. We need to be gentle now.” And Aziraphale was gentle as she explained about gluten forming and the difference between the structure of bread and cake. Crowley tried to be gentle too, controlling the speed the flour was added to the mixture as Aziraphale ran the spatula round the sides of the bowl and carefully lifted the mixture over it.

When all the flour has been tucked neatly into the batter Aziraphale dipped little finger into the mixture and popped it into her mouth. Crowley wasn’t disappointed at missing out for long.

Aziraphale’s eyes closed and she hummed.

“Good?”

“Very.” Aziraphale smiled, but it was a pale wobbly thing. “Reminds me of mum, that’s all. She taught me to bake, before all the falling in love with girls happened.”

“Girls?” Crowley wrapped Aziraphale in a hug, tucked her head into Aziraphale’s shoulder so she could kiss her neck.

“Girl, then. You, vain puss." She sighed. "Licking out the bowl was always such a treat.”

“You’re mum was wrong you know?”

“Wrong about a lot of things. She made me believe the little finger was the most hygienic one. I don’t think that’s true at all.” Aziraphale’s laugh was a firm line drawn under that conversation. “Anyway. We’re nearly done.”

**_Divide the mixture between two greased 20cm cake tins. Place in a pre-heated over at 180C for around 25-30 minutes._ **

****

The cake tins were well used and worn, darkened by the baking of cakes past. Crowley admired Aziraphale’s efficient movements as she cut out two circles of baking parchment for the bottom of the tins and then greased the inner sides with butter. It was Crowley’s job to pour the batter in and she found herself desperate to get it equally distributed. She liked the gloopy consistency, the grainy texture. Rich yellow too from the butter and egg yolks. It made her nostalgic for a childhood she'd never had. 

Putting it in the oven was quite possibly the most satisfying thing Crowley had ever done. Didn’t bother to hide her smile either. She snuggled up to Aziraphale’s back. “So, twenty-five to thirty minutes?”

Aziraphale gently moved Crowley’s hands back to more respectable position on her waist. “Now we make the filling.”

Double cream. Blackberries from the bramble bushes that had survived Crowley’s ruthless cutting back last year.

“More whisking!” Crowley flopped over the kitchen table, her head in her hands. “It never ends.”

Aziraphale, ingredients balanced in the crook of one arm, used her free hand to give Crowley a light smack on her behind.

“Ouch.”

They sat at the kitchen table sipping whiskey and eating the blackberries while they passed the bowl of cream back and forth between them. Their feet met beneath the table, and after some clever squirming, Crowley managed to get one of her feet back in Aziraphale’s lap again.

The smells emanating from the oven enveloped them. Warm butter; the slightly sulphury smell of the eggs as they coagulate; the dark caramelising sugar. Crowley wiggled her toes against Aziraphale’s thigh.

“This reminds me,” Crowley murmured while Aziraphale was mixing. “Never did get around to licking whipped cream off you like I promised I would.”

Aziraphale glanced up, lips stained dark with blackberry juice and cheeks pink with pleasure. “You never did. I’ve been trying not to be resentful that you never delivered.”

“No time like the present.” Crowley slid from her perch and snaked round the table to catch Azirapahle’s mouth with hers. She’d never get tired of this. Not just the kissing Aziraphale, but the being allowed to. That they could do it without Aziraphale pausing to check who else was watching. Now they could stand in the kitchen, kissing soft and slow without any rush. Crowley would have said it was like being teenagers again, except without all the angst and drama. It was how she would have liked them to be teenagers.

Crowley surrendered to her impulses, and began to pluck at the ribbons holding Aziraphale’s top together. Aziraphale caught her wrists. “Can’t lick whipped cream off me until it’s actually whipped, can you?”

Crowley side-eyed the bowl. “I could try. Say whipped again.”

Aziraphale wiggled her shoulders. “Whipped.”

Crowley shivered. It was only half exaggerated. She dragged the bowl towards her though. “Fine. Fine.” 

**_After removing the cake from the oven, let it stand in the tin for about 10 minutes, then loosen and turn out gently onto a wire rack to cool. Avoid excessive handling while hot._ **

They crouched by the closed oven door, knees touching. Proper _Bake Off_ mood.

“What do you think?” Aziraphale asked.

“Smells cooked.” It smelled amazing, especially mixed with the closeness of Aziraphale, who Crowley always thought was made partly of vanilla.

“Let’s look then.” Aziraphale put on her gloves and opened the over in a wash of heat. She pulled the shelf out slightly. “Touch the top. Gently.”

Crowley pushed two fingers on to the surface of one of the sponges. It sprung back into shape slowly. “Done,” she declared. 

Aziraphale took the cakes out, placing the tins carefully on top of the cooker. She removed her oven gloves.

When the cream was whipped and the cakes had cooled down sufficiently Aziraphale showed Crowley how to turn them out on to a wire a rack.

They stood back, arms lazily holding each other and looked at their work.

“There you go,” Aziraphale said. “Easy peasy.”

“Not done yet though is it?” Crowley let her hand wander down Aziraphale’s back. “Can’t put the cream on until the cake has fully cooled.”

Aziraphale lifted her eyebrows, then gasped as Crowley squeezed her bottom.

“What?” Crowley laughed and squeezed again. “How many episodes of _Bake Off_ have you made me watch? I know why they’re always sticking their cakes in the fridge to cool them down with five minutes left on the clock. We put cream on that cake now it'll melt everywhere.”

“Hmm,” Aziraphale agreed.

“So, what I want to know, angel, is why we had to whip it all up now while the cake was cooking? Got a few hours to kill before we can do anything with it.”

“Oh, dearest.” Aziraphale nibbled at Crowley’s ear. “There’s all sorts of things we could do with it. Use your imagination.”

Crowley did. She had promises to keep, after all.


End file.
